


A Study in Sochi

by runningwhenyoucallmyname



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 2014 Winter Olympics, AU, Drugs, M/M, Multi, Secret Relationship, Sochi 2014
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-18
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-12 23:20:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1204306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runningwhenyoucallmyname/pseuds/runningwhenyoucallmyname
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are preparing for the 2014 Winter Olympics in Sochi when they meet one another and they've never had the best timing. The threat of exposure in Russia looms over them, as well as the concern of fellow competitor Jim Moriarty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You're going to Sochi!

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic I've posted so I'm super keen (if a little nervous)!  
> I'm really enjoying planning and writing this fic and I hope you all enjoy it.  
> Super big thank you to my lovely beta Lucy (ThisTresspassedLife). You're a massive babe.
> 
> PS - Janine is from Northern Ireland and therefore is on Team GB with Molly and Sherlock, unlike Jim.

_Evening!_   
_If you haven’t already heard, yes I was selected for the GB Hockey Team and will be going to Sochi! I can’t believe it either. I can’t wait. Of course, I will still update the blog about training with photos and stories – even more so now._   
_Thank you for all the support after a difficult couple of years. It’s finally all paid off!_   
_John._

...

 

‘I still can’t believe you’re going. You! The fucking Olympics!’ Harry all but squealed, making John take the phone away from his ear momentarily.

‘Yeah it’s insane, considering…’ John trailed off before letting his smile return. ‘But it isn’t about that, I need to just focus.’

‘I’m right there with you, Johnny. All the way through, you…you did so much for me and I- I promise you that those days are behind me.’ Harry’s voice was determined as she stammered slightly. ‘From now on I am Harry Watson, Winter Olympics extraordinaire and supporter!’ John couldn’t help laughing at the booming impression she put on. Harry could be a pain in the arse but he had to admit, she’d really turned it all around.

‘Thanks Harry, you know it means a lot. You can give me lifts to training then from now on as the ‘Winter Olympics extraordinaire’.’ She could hear the invisible air quotes as John said this.

‘Deal?’

‘Only if there’s a fit women’s hockey team.'

‘Done.’

...

 

_Daughter is on the right hand side of the audience, by the bend. He’ll want to meet her eye or even wave on the last lap, promising her a win. Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side. Amateur._

Sherlock put on his helmet as he smirked, turning it into a sickly sweet smile for his competitor. He knew exactly how to make the poor man think he had a chance and then where to speed up again.

The men readied themselves and Sherlock inhaled deeply, preparing for the adrenaline and the sheer rush pumping through his veins. This was a high that did not require becoming unaware, but gave him an essential cool rush of ice and breeze as he sped past the colours of the crowd. It was antithesis of cocaine and morphine yet still the seven percent solution he required. Unlike the hot chemicals pulsing within his blood, this was quick and sharp like the crack of a whip. Everything else is transport, _this_ is the work, Sherlock thought as he spotted the man’s weak moment and everything was over. A split second and he was into the games.

‘Child’s play.’ The athlete sniffed when his trainer, the long suffering Greg Lestrade, offered him his congratulations.

...

 

The burly cheers could be heard throughout the entire building and John’s teammates all but tackled him down onto the ice.

‘Alright, fuck off!’ He laughed as the team captain pulled him back down as he attempted to right himself. ‘I said piss off!’ His laugh echoed and he struggled remember a time when everything felt this…secure.

‘We were just giving you a proper welcome back, Watson!’ Bill replied with a wide grin as he let John stand again. ‘It’s good to have you in, mate. You deserve it; you’ve done nothing but train since…’ He seemed to stop himself and shook his head, catching sight of someone over John’s shoulder. ‘Here’s the man you can thank.’

John turned his head and scrambled to get up, gliding to where Mike Stamford stood will a smile. ‘You selected me, Mike, thank you.’ He was unsure what more to say to the man who merely smiled and shook his hand.

‘Don’t let me down, John.’

...

 

‘Of _course_ he got on the damn team.” Phillip Anderson rolled his eyes as he regarded the name with distaste. ‘What team doesn’t he get on? Everyone celebrates him and he’s an utter dick who thinks he’s better than everyone.’

‘You’re in the games too. I know he’s a shit but he’s a good skater.’ Sally admitted with a shrug. ‘But you’re also good at what you do, so just ignore him and his ‘God complex’’ She made air quotes and released her dark curls from her ponytail.

‘And who gives a shit? Skating is obviously so much more exciting…’ He muttered bitterly.

‘And this will be your year. So _ignore him, and enjoy it_.’ Sally looked satisfied as she snapped the curler into silence.

...

 

‘Congratulations, brother mine.’

‘Piss off, Mycroft. We both knew I’d be in.’ Sherlock grumbled as he ran his fingers through his unruly curls.

‘Oh…Need a haircut, do we?’ The voice was smug, smarmy, and Sherlock could hardly stand it.

‘Stop spying on me and go back to your playing in the snow. I see the arenas aren’t even close to being finished. Perhaps you should get involved with the building. Do some legwork. All you do now is…sit at a desk. Hardly of national importance, hm?’ He sarcastically quipped. Undermining Mycroft’s job was a quick and easy way to get him off the phone and that’s exactly where Sherlock wanted him; gone.

‘Fine.’ His older brother drawled. ‘I was only offering my congratulations and wanted to know if you would object to dinner. With our parents, of course. They want to celebrate.’

‘Yes, I would object. Eat enough for two; I’m sure that will be no problem for you.’ The skater smirked in satisfaction. _‘Goodbye,_ Mycroft. Don’t be deleting my place on the team out of spite; Mother would be so disappointed in you.’

...

 

Molly was beaming as she was patted on the back by her fellow skaters. ‘Thank you. Thanks...’ She repeated shyly as every single one passed her.

‘Well done.’ Janine stopped in front of her and winked with a smile. ‘I told you that you could do it, didn’t I? I said win a race for me, Molly Hooper, and you did. I think I’m your good luck charm.’

Molly gave her teammate a hug through a giggle. ‘Do you ever get used to it? I mean, the games- It’s my first one and obviously I want to try for more and, um-‘ She rambled with the sheer excitement and adrenaline of it all and was interrupted by a dramatic sigh.

‘Do cease talking, Molly; conversation isn’t really your area.’ A tall and dark figure slipped past her on the ice.

‘O-oh!’ The brunette almost jumped in surprise at the sound of the velvet voice. ‘Congratulations of getting in, Sherlock. You know, I did too.’

‘I know. Your competitor was-‘

‘Save it.’ Janine warned him with a glare before her face smoothed into a soft smile for Molly. ‘Now. Let’s get that gold, shall we?’

...

 

A quiet and deep chuckle resounded throughout the empty flat as Sherlock read the name.

_James Moriarty. Ireland._

‘Back for more, are we?’ The self-satisfied smirk remained as Sherlock relished the chance of beating him once again.

...

 

_19.07  
He’s been training a lot Sherlock, all for you. Don’t get cocky; he may beat you this year. These aren’t the championships anymore. That was merely child’s play. MH_

_19.32  
Brother dear, don’t underestimate me. SH_

...

Harry whistled as they set foot into the training centre. ‘Bit upmarket isn’t it, Johnny!’

John simply hummed, his heavy bag of kit slung over his good shoulder. He eyed his watch and made a face. ‘We’re half an hour early. Want to watch the training session that’s going on now? Not sure who’s in here though.’

‘Hopefully it’ll be the fit hockey players.’ Harry muttered and followed John into the arena, holding the large rink in the centre. A cool, artificial breeze hit them as they entered and John felt at home.

‘Sorry, Harry. Looks like male speed skaters.’ John paused to watch them fly past with grace, looking a little in awe. ‘Bloody hell, look at them go…’

‘Eh. I bet the women are more impressive.’ She nudged her younger brother with a small laugh only to notice John’s eyes were following a certain figure around the rink. She followed his gaze to a tall and slender yet somehow muscular athlete who had just finished his round, seeming angry about his timing at the shout of his trainer. The man took off his helmet and slammed it down onto the bench before ruffling his dark, thick curls in frustration. ‘Who’s that?’

‘That, Harry, is Sherlock Holmes.’


	2. A First Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Watson and Sherlock Holmes have their first meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will probably update this fic weekly (don't hold me to it though!) but because I finally got my AO3 invitation I had two ready for posting. Thank you! Enjoy. 
> 
> And always love to Lucy my beta babe.

‘I’m in, it’s settled. Do you have them? _All_ of them...You will give them to me in time or I will find you and I will sssssskin you.’

The hiss was resounding in the silence of the small room.

‘If you give all of this to me like you say you will, I’ll make you rich. If you don’t, I’ll make you into shoes.’

 

...

 

‘Retirement or injury?’

John hadn’t even stepped on the ice before Sherlock was gliding towards him and stopped, eyes flicking over him with an intense scrutiny that made him feel as though he was being laid bare for all to see. John merely stood a little straighter. ‘Sorry?’

‘Which one have you recently returned from. Retirement or injury?’

‘Injury. Sorry, how did you kno-‘

‘I didn’t know, I saw. The way you hold yourself is proud, particularly in the shoulders, but it isn’t only proudness is it? It’s being used to the shoulder pads, you’re very proud of your career and therefore you’ve naturally adopted this stance.’ All of the scrutiny of Sherlock’s gaze was suddenly in his voice; velvet humming that took apart your weaknesses and painted them around you. ‘But it’s also about compensation, isn’t it?’

‘Is it?’ John was unflinching and still.

‘You had an injury, a bad one too. Mid-season mistake and it wouldn’t have been so bad if you hadn’t kept on playing. Your left shoulder is visibly more sensitive; you winced when you came out with your uniform and shoulder pads freshly on. Your stance is about asserting your position in the team, gaining your confidence and most of all it’s to show everyone that you’re just fine. You seem self assured however you immediately look for back up in situations, you looked to your teammate in the stands as soon as I asked you my first question; clearly a team player then. How else did I know this? The next bit’s easy, you know it already.’

‘I brought my sister with me.’

‘Mmm, your sister. Now, who is she? Hardly moral support. Clearly she’s making up for past mistakes because you haven’t brought any money with you. You only have your training bag and considering how old your gear is, you’re trying to save the cash you have. You’re a practical man; you keep money and cards in a wallet and only take them out when needed. If you had it, your sister would be holding onto it but she only has her tiny, impractical handbag which can barely hold her own purse and phone, never mind anything else. If you were paying her for petrol or buying her lunch, you would be most likely to go after training. She’s waiting for you and isn’t getting anything out of it? Definitely did something wrong. Maybe you think she owes this to you, maybe you simply don’t want to go for dinner- _Oh._ Oh, you don’t want to take her out, do you? Drinker.’ Sherlock’s smirk was self-satisfied and smug.

‘How can you possibly know about the drinking?’

‘Shot in the dark, good one though. It’s difficult to find a place without all of that alcohol on show around here and you don’t trust her. You doubt that she’s capable of being around it without slipping up. Unlikely you’ve got an extended family and she’s all there is. You don’t want to be completely on your own.’ The man kept John’s gaze. ‘I’d beat you by telling you about my knowledge of your relationship with your sister just before the race. Then I would roll my shoulders at every glance you took to me, putting your injury on your mind.’

John remained still as he took this in. He felt like his story was floating around him in the air and he fought the urge to pull it all back in and hide it again underneath the armour of his hockey uniform. He moved quietly closer to Sherlock as if the other man’s story would suddenly become clear. While this didn’t happen, he realised Sherlock was waiting for him. As John glanced around, everyone else was lingering in anticipation with slight smirks on their faces which promptly disappeared at his next few words.

‘That…was amazing. But you never worked out my name. It’s John. John Watson.’ The small man added gleefully, as if he was getting one over on him.

Sherlock’s brow furrowed, and he eyed him suspiciously. ‘You think so…John?’ He tested the name on his tongue for the first time.

‘Of course it was.’ A breathy and incredulous laugh filled the arena and Sherlock wanted to hear it again. ‘It was extraordinary. Quite extraordinary,’ He watched the lean man bite his lip and he seemed to glance around smugly, making sure everyone heard what had been said.

‘That’s not what people normally say.’

‘What do people normally say?’ John was smirking as their words naturally bounced off one another.

‘Piss off.’ The answer came without missing a beat, and a smirk appeared on Sherlock’s face to match John’s.

They laughed together until Sherlock had to leave with a departing wink and said, ‘Same time next week, John?’

‘Yes. Yes, of course.’

 

...

 

‘Are you blushing?’ Greg laughed and he caught Sherlock’s helmet when it was all but thrown at him. ‘All right, drama queen, don’t get cranky.’

‘I am _not_ blushing,’ Was the huff in response. ‘I was merely telling you what John said. People don’t say that, Lestrade.’

‘Well…Apparently they do.’

Sherlock ruffled his hair in frustration of being unable to fathom John Watson. He should have been boring and possibly a brute – he’s a hockey player after all and many of them are– but Sherlock saw complex lines within his face and depth within the indecipherable colour of his hair. His skating, Sherlock observed, wasn’t urgent or by any means graceful, but it was practical and steady. Nothing John Watson did ever seemed to be in a rush. Sherlock resented the fact that he had never seen John walk on solid ground. He imagined that his strides would be careful and controlled, never missing a step or a beat. His walk would be him just like his skating was.

‘I’m doing extra training next week, Lestrade. Moriarty has been upping his game and I should be doing the same. I’ll wait until after the hockey team are done, I like that rink. I don’t want to use the smaller one.’ He avoided Greg’s eye and kept his gaze anywhere else in the room.

‘Sherlock, if you want to go and talk to your schoolgirl crush you don’t need to run it by me.’ His trainer winked with a teasing smirk as Sherlock petulantly scowled in response. ‘As for Moriarty…I’ve heard he’s getting good. Really good…And really obsessed.’

‘What a surprise.’

‘Yeah well just…Be careful. There are stories about him – _weird_ stories about him lashing out.’ Greg couldn’t help his chuckle when Sherlock groaned dramatically in annoyance. He’d been his trainer for five years and the man had always been an utter child. ‘Shut up and get your skates on.’

 

...

 

_13.05_

_Tell me if that posh git says anything more about me. I’ll get a restraining order._

_13.11  
Harry, he isn’t stalking you. He knew from just looking at me. It was amazing, honestly._

_13.14  
Has John got a crush? ;) _

_13.16  
No, for God’s sake._

_13.18  
Even I can see he has a nice arse and I’m a lesbian._

_13.20  
Harry!_

_13.22  
John! Are you seeing him again?_

_13.24  
Yes. Same time next week._

_13.26  
Second date!! Get the fuck in there, Johnny!_

_13.28  
Get lost, Harry._

 

...

 

‘He’s a freak, John.’

‘Come on, don’t call him that.’ This had become old news to John since he had started speaking to Sherlock. He was sick of it, to be honest. He was the first to tell Sherlock he could be an arsehole after just two weeks of knowing him, but some people were being downright cruel.

‘Seriously – He’s an arsehole. You know the curling team? Anderson and all that? He treats them like shite. They’re winning gold left right and centre and all Holmes gives a shit about is himself. I’m warning you, John.’ Bill tried to reason and sighed when he saw John rolling his eyes.

A laugh came from the corner of the changing rooms. ‘I hear his brother works on the committee. Tells you something about him easily getting into the games doesn’t it?’

John slammed his skates down with a loud thud. ‘Maybe he wouldn’t be so shite to everyone if he didn’t have people like you shoving _‘freak’_ and stupid comments like that in his face every time he set foot in the damn arena- Right, nope- I need air. Back in a minute.’ And with that, John left.

 _Nice one. People definitely won’t talk now you’ve defended him like that,_ John thought to himself. And then he realised, he didn’t care.

 

...

 

'So, go on, tell me again...You work out their weaknesses and then you beat them.'

'The science of deduction, John.'

'Sounds more like detective work when you word it like that.'

'I like to keep my options open.' 

John chuckled and fastened his skates.

 

...

_22.12_

_I never said congratulations for getting into the games, did I? SH_

_22.14  
Is this Sherlock? How did you get my number?_

_22.21  
Congratulations. Just say thank you. I don’t usually do things such as this. SH_

_22.26  
…Thank you, Sherlock. See you tomorrow?_

_22.29  
Of course. You’re welcome, John. SH_

_..._

 

BBC news played in the background as John thought about Sherlock’s comment on his gear. Yes, it was old, but it was just fine for him. He ignored the news and let it continue as he looked for some new kit on the internet. If anything called for new gear, the Olympics did.

 _‘_ As more Russian gay rights activists are detained and the propaganda law stands, the key question is asked again and again. Will Sochi be the right host for the 2014 Winter Olympics?' The words blurred into the background before John muted the television.

Ignorance and silenced ensued. 

 


	3. Boyfriend?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Watson. The only man who hadn’t shouted or slapped him and tried to tear him away from the work, the one thing he loved and the one thing that wouldn’t leave him until his bones were brittle and his legs couldn’t hold him any longer. The man who had said ‘it’s all fine’ and by ‘all’ he meant Sherlock with every fibre that was simply him and not a fabrication of who someone else wanted him to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just laying the foundations down before Sochi! The next chapter will be just before the big send off and then the games will begin!  
> Always thank you to the beautiful beta, Lucy.

‘Candle for the table! Makes it more romantic for you, eh?’ The waiter and owner of the restaurant winked and softly placed a candle between them, much to John’s embarrassment which fuelled his next question.

‘You got a girlfriend then?’ John asked over Italian after training. Sherlock had insisted that John join him at one of his regular places. Angelo’s was run by a rather avid fan who enjoyed giving Sherlock his meals for free.

‘Girlfriend? No,’ Sherlock eyed him coolly. ‘Not really my area.’

Oh. _Oh._  Was he…? John raised his eyebrows ever so slightly and cleared his throat as he kept his gaze on the other man who currently had no food in front of him. Apparently it ‘slows him down’ and as a speed skater, this was not an option.

‘Boyfriend?’

‘No.’ Sherlock inwardly cringed at how quickly he answered the hockey player. He couldn’t help his smirk while John ungracefully twisted spaghetti around his fork before it slid from the utensil and back onto his place.

‘Ah…You’re unattached. Like me. Good.’ John’s eyes were on the frustrating pieces of spaghetti as he awkwardly blurted out his words.

Sherlock inwardly fought with himself and tried to wrestle with his own voice box. His mind went to default and simply found the most repeated reaction to someone’s interest: rejection. ‘John, erm-‘ _Just say okay! Just say good! Anything but this you idio- ‘_ I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work and while I’m flattered-‘

‘No, no, that’s not what I…’ John hid his disappointment at the hasty excuse well, like the armour of his hockey uniform over the decrepit shoulder and ageing man. ‘I’m just saying, it’s all fine.’

John Watson. The only man who hadn’t shouted or slapped him and tried to tear him away from the work, the one thing he loved and the one thing that wouldn’t leave him until his bones were brittle and his legs couldn’t hold him any longer. The man who had said ‘it’s all fine’ and by ‘all’ he meant _Sherlock_ with every fibre that was simply him and not a fabrication of who someone else wanted him to be. The small but sturdy man was a conductor of light that had entered his life in only the last three months and yet this is the only time he had asked, the only man who hadn’t judged Sherlock on his looks or quirks or dropped him at the first utter of ‘Don’t be an idiot,’. He cursed himself silently. Sherlock did not deserve someone like John Watson yet he wasn’t about to give him away and his smile in response promised more. He could have said this and a lot more, yet all he uttered were three words.

‘Good…Thank you.’ John smiled back and his eyes crinkled ever so slightly.

 

…

 

 The last thing Harry Watson expected was to be escorted from John’s practice with the mere promise that she would be back in time. The sleek woman calling herself ‘Anthea’ made Harry scoff.

‘ _Please._ That’s a fake name, I’ve seen enough James Bond films to know, babe.’

Anthea merely smirked and kept her eyes on her Blackberry while Harry made herself comfortable on the leather seats of the car. ‘Fancy car like this and no champagne with strawberries? I feel cheated.’

‘I’ll make the request next time, Miss Watson.’

‘ _Miss Watson?_ Now this is more like it.’

Harry was almost disappointed when she was led into a building holding office after office until Anthea stopped and opened the door for her, letting Harry lead the way.

‘Miss Watson. Take a seat.’

‘Couldn’t you have just rang me? I do have a phone and you seem pretty ‘in the know’.’ She made air quotes as she spoke and sat down.

‘I am calling upon you to keep an eye on someone.’

He entertained her jibes with a mere raised eyebrow, on him the expression could almost be called elegant. He was wearing a crisp three piece suit and Harry tapped on her phone before smirking at him. He frowned deeply. ‘What?’

‘You’re Mycroft Holmes. As Olympic extraordinaire I admit that wasn’t quick on my part, but bloody hell you thought I wouldn’t guess?’                                              

‘On the contrary I knew you would. Five minutes too slow for me, let’s hope you don’t disappoint next time.’ He retorted, only urging Harry to grin wider.

‘John claims they’re mates. Pals. Best buds, whatever the fuck you want to call it.’ Mycroft sighed at her language but his look wasn’t of disdain; he knew Harry Watson had more than meets the eye. She was more than a recovering alcoholic who shook at the sight of Prosecco and more than her language would ever say. She was useful. ‘But you want to see how he goes on about him, he _gushes._ I’ve not even seen him like this about a girl and get this – his last one dumped him for spending more time with Sherlock.’ She cackled loudly, causing Mycroft to wince.

‘My brother has had one friend in his life and that was his dog.’ He drawled in response and shrugged. ‘So what is to be said about him?’

‘He’s a bit lonely and John’s the only one who’ll put up with him?’

‘He’s smitten, Harriet.’

‘It’s _Harry_   _.’_

‘I believe Harriet is the name your parents gave you if you could struggle all the way to the end. Shall we get your birth certificate and find out?’ He smirked at her expression. ‘Believe me, Miss Watson, I have a lot of fingers in a lot of pies.’

‘Look. What’s this actually all about? You want me to keep an eye on Sherlock?’ She scoffed. ‘Fat chance, John won’t want me muscling in on his new crush!’

‘I want you to keep an eye on them both.’ Mycroft’s tone was now hushed and serious. ‘However smitten they are, it has to be on the hush. Is it really wise? Come now, Miss Watson, you aren’t an idiot. You’re a lesbian and you watch the news, you know the situation in Russia and you know they cannot go under those circumstances.’

‘So you want me to stop my brother from getting onto him?’

‘In simple terms, maybe. We postpone it, keep them at a distance until after the games. Or it might not end well.’

Harry nodded. She’d do anything to protect John, especially after everything he’d done for her. She stood and approached Mycroft, unintimidated by how tall he grew when he stood or by his suit that possibly cost more than her flat. She shook his hand and gave him a confident smile. ‘I believe I’m in, Mr Holmes.’

‘Call me Mycroft. This could be the beginning to a very beneficial partnership.’ His handshake was one that secured a business transaction. ‘You should prove extremely useful, Harriet.’

They let go. ‘Call me Harry.’ Were her parting words and her heels echoed in the hallway.

 

…

 

 ‘Martha- For God’s sake, are they all there?! Is it all there?!’

His wife fretted and shook her head in frustration. ‘Stop rushing me!’ She took a few more moments. ‘See? That’s all it took! Yes, they’re all there…Oh, I wish you wouldn’t drag me into all of this…’

Her husband sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. ‘You married me, you got yourself into it. Anyway you like a bit of a high every now and then…’

‘This isn’t that though, is it? These are performance enhancing-‘

‘He can make me rich, Martha.’ He took her face in his hands. ‘He can make us rich. Now how about that tea?’

She merely exhaled and nodded slightly, shooing him away with a soft pat to his chest.

‘I’m not your maid!’

 

…

 

Greg watched Molly as she skated, every so often shouting encouragement. He’d offered to sit in on her sessions when her own trainer couldn’t manage it. He had a soft spot for Molly but he had to admit, he had no idea what she saw in Sherlock Holmes. She had a soft face and mousy hair; she was delicate and soft in her entire person. After meeting her in conversation you’d never think she could be a whippet on the ice. People laugh when they hear she’s a speed skater and not taking part in a sport like curling; somewhere where she could be ordered around and put to the back, letting the glory shine on someone else. Molly was almost invisible once she hit the ice and she didn’t even know it. She doubted herself in every word she said yet as she skated, she had faith in every corner she took.

‘That’s great, Molly, keep going, you’re beating it! Keep on like this and you’ll be the next Sherlock Holmes.’

As she came to a halt she took off her helmet and giggled; the fierce competitor was a mouse once again. ‘I don’t think so…Sherlock’s just so…’

‘Honestly! Golden girl of skating!’ Greg grinned and conveniently interrupted her. Unless it was Sherlock, encouragement was something he always valued as a coach. It was fair to give credit where it was deserved. Again, unless you were an arsehole.

‘That’s more likely to be the figure skaters...’ She smiled and shrugged. ‘I tried that but it just wasn’t my thing. I might not get the pretty dress but I’m good at this.’

‘You’re _very_ good, Molls.’ Greg’s voice was serious.

‘M-Molls?’

‘Oh- Shit, I heard Janine. I should stop listening to her.’ He chuckled awkwardly and met Molly’s soft blue eyes.

‘No, no. You can call me Molls.’

 

…

 

 ‘You didn’t know that the earth goes round the sun? Sherlock, it’s primary school stuff!’

‘Is it to do with skating?’

‘No, but-‘

‘Then I deleted it for more information on my skating and my competition. It’s merely selection, John.’

John chuckles like he always does and ends up falling asleep on Sherlock’s couch until he’s woken up by a violin.

‘You play?’

Sherlock ignored the question and spoke softly in the dark. ‘Your back will be sore and you have training tomorrow morning. There is a spare room upstairs.’

John hummed to the tune as he made his way to the inviting bed and let himself doze off to the sound of the violin. He imagined Sherlock was playing a lullaby.

 

…

 

‘You, my dear, need to beat him.’

‘You forget that I’m not a man. Do you need reminding?’

‘Oh, I know that. Just beat him and tell me.’

‘And the ice-man, as you call him? Head of all this?’

‘He’s of no concern. Once I’m in, I’m in.’

A smile of blood red lipstick appeared. ‘And so am I.’

 

…

 

_13.45  
Stop talking to Harriet Watson. She’s staring at us, I know this is to do with you. SH_

_14.01  
I do it all for your own good. MH_

 

_14.07  
My own good, my absolute arse. John taught me that phrase if you wondered and you’re a nosy, fat git. Bugger OFF. SH_

 

_14.11  
Always so mature. MH_

_…_

‘How are you and your boyfriend?’

‘Piss off, Anderson.’

John cut in as he walked past on his way out of the training centre. _Fuck it,_ he thought before confidently retorting.  ‘Doing great. How are you and your right hand?’

As Anderson spluttered, Sherlock laughed quietly. John listened for the deep and happy sound coming from his chest and savoured it.

 

…

_Hey!_  
Training is going really well and I’ve made a good friend in the skater Sherlock Holmes. A celebrity, I know. High brow eh? He’ll kill me for saying that.  
Me and the lads are really excited now and have started counting down to the games. Should be a great year! Come on Team GB!

 _More pictures up in the morning. :)_ _  
_

_Post soon,_

_John._

 


	4. Are You Ready?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions were rising over in Russia and despite everyone knowing it, Mycroft knew more. He had a constant furrow in his brow as he watched the CCTV footage of Sherlock laughing at John’s joke, or observing his features, or doing something nice for the man. He’d never known his brother to be so sickeningly smitten and his reaction was all hidden under his icy demeanour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super sorry this took so long - I have so much silly college work so I can't make any time commitments to this fic. I'll try my best though - thanks so much loves!

Sherlock sped around the rink and- Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. His mind travelled a hundred miles a minute as he slipped and skidded across the ice. Greg Lestrade let out a low whistle.

‘Come on, Sherlock, you’re alright!’ He sighed and shook his head as he watched the skater slam his fist into the wall.

‘Third time in two days, Lestrade! This is ridiculous-‘The man all but growled. _‘Molly_ is doing better than me right now and the games are coming-‘As he ranted, Greg gave him a look.

‘Lay off Molly, alright? You’re distracted, mate.’ Greg sighed. He’d been this man’s trainer for four years and had never seen him like this. ‘Whatever it is – go and do it.’

‘And whatever it is you’re implying-‘ Sherlock was quick to retort and he skated over to square up to his trainer.

‘I said do it. You idiot.’ And then Greg, the infuriating bastard, grinned and winked at Sherlock before he left the skater looking sufficiently infuriated.

 

…

 

_21.09  
Thanks for sticking up for me with Sherlock. Janine told me. :) _ _MH xx_

_22.03  
It’s fine, Molls. No worries. GL_

...

 

‘Harry it’s happened. What I said wouldn’t happen…’ John droned on drunkenly and he groaned; both at his state and the thoughts in his head.

Harry watched on, a satisfied smirk on her face and a glass of vimto in her hand. Maybe not drinking _did_ have its advantages, she thought as she coherently texted.

‘He rinks the skates…Rinks on the skate so quickly, Harry-‘ The rambling continued.

_He’s so pissed. He’s gonna tell me. I know it. HW_

_You almost sound cocky, Harriet. Never become cocky. MH_

Harry snorted and rolled her eyes with a grin. Her relationship with one Mycroft Holmes was one of mutual concern and worry for their baby brothers. While Mycroft claimed his motives were merely protective, Harry was caught between playing cupid for the boys and stopping anything happening before Sochi. Tensions were rising over in Russia and despite everyone knowing it, Mycroft knew more. He had a constant furrow in his brow as he watched the CCTV footage of Sherlock laughing at John’s joke, or observing his features, or doing something _nice_ for the man. He’d never known his brother to be so sickeningly smitten and his reaction was all hidden under his icy demeanour. Harry liked Mycroft, she really did. He was straight to the point and cringed at her language and her cackling. They made a good team and Harry rather hoped this was not just a temporary position, but a permanent friendship too.

‘What’s that then Johnny? You’re smitten for that curly headed toff?’ She hazarded casually, not expecting John to sit up quickly and frown deeply at her.

‘Shhhh….Shhh…’ Harry rolled her eyes at John’s slurring hushes. ‘He’s…Sherlock, isn’t he?’

‘Well fucking spotted.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘John, spit it out.’

‘Sherlock is…He is…Hell, I don’t mind.” John muttered. ‘I’m done for.’ He dramatically fell back onto the bed, spilling his beer and cursing loudly.

 

…

 

_10.46  
I told you, didn’t I? JW_

_10.48  
Oh yes. HW_

_10.51  
Shit. JW_

_10.55  
Shit indeed. HW_

_10.56  
Should I tell him? JW_

_11.10  
No. HW_

…

 

Harry stuffed her phone into her pocket, feeling guilty. She was doing this for their own good. If the Russian authorities caught wind of their relationship or worse, an extremist group, anything could happen to them. She sighed professionally and just focused on her heels clicking on the ground. They were gorgeous and the products of her first Holmesian pay cheque – both very generous and completely ridiculous. Mycroft said it was merely part of the job and that he was extremely impressed.

Apparently, this was part of the job too. Stopping her little brother from being happy.

_But they could get together after Sochi, it’d be fine then…just fine._

Her stomach twisted and she cursed her beliefs as a hopeless romantic.

 

…

 

_17.30  
Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock. MH_

_17.35  
Cake is not an advantage, Mycroft. SH_

_17.40  
Redbeard. MH_

_17.41  
Piss. Off. John is not a dog. SH_

_17.43  
He’s the first you’ve cared just as much for. MH_

_17.49  
You can shove dinner with our parents up your fat arse. I’m training. SH_

_17.57  
Or seeing John. MH_

_18.01  
Training. Watch your cameras. SH_

_…_

‘Are you scared?’

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him. They were on John’s sofa and both sore from the rigorous training for the games which crept closer with each coming day. ‘Why would I be scared?’

‘I am. It’s pretty massive..’ John shrugged and licked his lower lip as he flicked through channels and looked down in brief surprise when he felt Sherlock’s feet hesitantly settle in his lap. ‘Comfy?’ He smirked at the skater.

‘Extremely. You’re warm.’ Sherlock murmured and tipped his head back to rest on the arm of the couch. He relished the feeling of John’s warm body and the simple layers between them. He imagined that John – even without the clothes – was a constant source of heat. That he was like a conductor of warmth that constantly travelled through his veins. If you cut one of John’s veins, Sherlock swears the blood would be red hot. John was a mammal, a man of strong will and instincts and…This thought process mustn't carry on in John’s living room while they were touching. He hid his blush well and remained still until he felt coolness against his skin again, almost sad he wasn't as warm as he imagined John always was.

‘You’ve no need to be frightened, John. I promise.’ He finally said in the comfortable silence, and his icy blue eyes met ones of more heat.

‘I’m not as young as I was and..this bloody shoulder…’

Sherlock sat up and he narrowed his eyes at John. ‘I am not watching you wax lyrical about how sorry you feel for yourself. The John Watson I know ignores his shoulder and skates across that ice with _grace_ of all things – You’re a hockey player, you shouldn't be graceful, no offence – and I marvel because it’s like you were never injured. I get angry when people are gentle with you because of it but I wouldn’t hesitate bringing down any man who managed to injure-‘ Sherlock stopped abruptly when he caught sight of John’s surprised expression. He looked fond and shocked and…there was something else that he frustratingly couldn't decipher.

‘Sherlock-‘ John began and the taller man ruffled his curls with a shrug, giving him a look that silenced him.

 

…

 

‘He said all this stuff the other day and I think I should tell him…’ John was talking to Harry on the phone and he frowned to himself.

‘No, John. Don’t. It’ll hurt and erm- it could ruin it, I fucking swear. John, don’t. Not before the games, what if you’re hurt and it puts you off your game? Mm?' Harry was breaking and struggling. She anticipated the _'Keep it together. MH'_ text she would get very soon.

‘I- Harry, he’d make me happy, what if he said the same to me?’ John sounded confused. He wasn't used to this attitude from his sister about romance and stupid declarations. It had Harry written all over it. He frowned. This stirred suspicion in his gut.

‘John, please trust me. Please, the games are soon. Don’t spoil it for yourself.’

‘Harry, what the hell are you trying to do?’

‘Nothing! Just…Promise me.’

‘I can’t do that. See you later.’ John hung up, gritting his teeth as he packed his bags.

 

…

 

_Ready for the games to begin? JM xx_


End file.
